When a child is born by ford_of_bruinen

When a child is born

A silent wish sails the seven seas
The winds of change whisper in the trees
And the walls of doubt crumble, tossed and torn
This comes to pass when a child is born
~ When a child is born

Snow lay heavily over the sleeping streets and rooftops of Gondolin, as pristinely white as the walls of which the city was built. The moon had started his descent some hours ago but there was still no sign of dawn.

High in the King’s tower lights burned, spilling out of windows too far from the ground to cast light on the street below. A flurry of activity buzzed around the upper, private, floor of the royal residence.

Tuor sat in a high-backed chair facing his wife. He had refused to leave the room when requested to do so, ignoring the scandalised whispers and comments from the female attendants and midwives in the room. Finally they had put his stubbornness down to his mortal blood and found a chair where he could sit, out of the way, unable to see much apart from Idril’s face. He did not mind as long as he could see her, in fact he was much happier not seeing the details of what was happening.

He leaned forward, caressing Idril’s face lightly as he watched her with increasing worry. It had not been an easy labour, he had gathered as much before he stopped listening to the worried mumbles of the women. The baby lay in breech and refused to turn in time and so the labour had dragged out, leaving Idril increasingly exhausted. By now her eyes were closed and her breathing laboured from weariness as much as anything else and for the first time he was frightened of losing her.

The empty assurances that it would not be long left had quieted as had the cheeriness of the experienced midwife who at present ruled the room.

The unnatural grace and beauty which he usually associated with his wife had faded; never before had she seemed more like the worn out, coarse women he could remember seeing from his years as a thrall.

Another wave of pain flowed through her body as she arched with a scream, stronger this time than the one before. He winced at the very sound by now, wondering if this night would ever end. Once she sank back to the bed again there was an almost peaceful expression on her face.

Alarmed he leaned forward, about to shake her, to reassure himself that she was still alive when he heard a small pitiful whimper from behind him, a sound that most definitely had not been there before now.

Idril opened her eyes, a large blissful smile spreading over her face as she leaned up on her elbows to get a better look, all signs of tiredness having fled her face which now radiated of pride and happiness.

The whimper grew louder, developing into a frail if strong crying as the sound of splashing water filled the room. Strangely enough he felt frozen, unable to turn and look for the child. It was suddenly real, not the vague knowledge that they were expecting a son or daughter but the growing realisation that they had a child, a living, breathing and rather loudly screaming child.

A smiling midwife appeared on the other side of the bed, laying a tightly wrapped bundle in Idril’s arms. “A boy,” she said. “Strong and healthy from the sound of it. Congratulations, my lady.”

Smiling Idril nudged the blankets away, getting a better look at the small boy whose crying had settled into sobbing hiccups as soon as he had been given to his mother. “Oh he is perfect,” she cooed, “beautiful.” She looked up at Tuor. “Is he not the most perfect thing you have ever seen?”

Tuor swallowed, looking at his son. Privately he thought the child looked mostly like an angrily red dried grape with an oddly shapen head but he was wise enough to keep such opinions to himself. “Stunning,” he said diplomatically. “Taking after me more than you I would say.”

Idril laughed. “He will look prettier in a few days I am sure.”

Ruefully he smiled at her, she had always been able to read him too well. “Your father will be pleased with a grandson, I am sure.” He said, in a way of changing the subject.

“Your people put more importance on gender than we does,” she replied, gazing down at her son. “I would have been happier had he been a girl. I am afraid of how my cousin will take the competition for the throne.”

Snorting Tuor stood, lifting his son into his arms. “You say we value males higher than your people do but I challange you to name me the last female to lead your people. Us lowly second-born can at least point to Haleth as a sign of our open-mindedness, who do you have?”

“You are right,” she answered, “It is ridiculous, as if being born female has given us less ability to lead.” She watched as her husband and son made their way to the window. “have you thought of a name for him yet?”

Tuor laughed. “No, I am just getting used to thinking of him as real... never mind a ‘him’. Have you?”

Idril’s eyes clouded for a moment. “He will bring change,” she said, her voice suddenly fey. “And through him change will come for all of us. Eärendil,” she said with certainty. “He will be named Eärendil.”

The first signs of dawn crept over the city, colouring the horizon a pale rose, softening the stark white of the tall towers of Gondolin. Slowly the snow began to fall again as the elves in the houses began to move. Midwinter had come and the dark days of frost and cold were turning back towards the light.